Whiskey

I've drunk a lot over the years. I still remember the first time I ever tried alcohol on Christmas Day when I was 14. It was a beer, a pretty famous brand that I barely finished because it quite frankly was genuinely terrible. My thoughts on my first taste of alcohol? It was not a 'good call' I've jumped between beverages since, wanting to try as many flavours as I can, find what I could undoubtedly consider 'My Drink'. I went from Rums, to cocktails, back to rums, vodka's, beers, cocktails again (I'm still partial to them, they're delicious). But when I first started trying whiskeys, that was when I felt something in the back of my mind. I felt something in the flavours and the years of aging that seemed to almost resonate within me. I realised from then that whiskey is the most honest drink. Because if you look at the whiskey a person drinks, you can know them as deeply and intimately as you know yourself.

You see the watered down piss on the rocks, owned by some celebrity or previous 'sexiest man alive' and you see a drinker who wants to seem sophisticated by drinking a whiskey whilst also trying to snare some of that brilliance. Some of that larger than life, shooting star lifestyle of that icon. Do they actually enjoy it? Chances are slim, but they love the idea that this endorsed slice of the good life could put them in the same mindset as the legends who have PhD's in performing Blue Steels.

Look further across the room, someone else has a different cheap piss, this time drowned in bubbly corporate nectar. What does that drink say? Someone looking for a cheap way to numb their pounding mind without the cold, dry breath of the 8 year brew catching and scratching down the back of their throat. Or perhaps they've splurged a little tonight, spent a little more for a roster of flavours that make the numbing feel cheery and merry. This persons mind labours over their future or more aptly lack thereof. They fill their hollow shell with years of other peoples efforts, praying for that same dedication that birthed the drink in their hand to make their own endeavours feel within their capability. It never works. It leaves a lingering thump of regret in their temple, once the blissful static clears, the ice of the room seeps back into the soul.

Now look further again, you see someone else hunched over a whiskey from an older company. It's one you'll probably never see an ad on TV for and it's existence will only come into your life through this brief crossroads with this stranger. How did they come across it? Is it Irish? Scotch? There's certainly Irish features on this strangers face, their eyes veil a soul too old for their body. This drink is an heirloom, some lingering memory of a loved one long gone. This glass is the time they never had with them.

You look down to your own drink now. It shows a murky reflection of yourself, blurred and hidden, just how you prefer it. Don't we all? Night after night we fall into the seductive embrace of this obliviousness and as you have looked at these strangers and seen their innermost truths you realise this. You may have nothing in common that would cause you to share a table and clink your glasses, you may never make eye contact and acknowledge each other as an acquaintance or new friend. You may never even learn this persons name. But you know this. As the last bell rings and you all file out into the cold, you will each pull tighter your jacket, breathe in the icy air and all walk forth into the unknown.